


full fathom five

by leonshardt



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonshardt/pseuds/leonshardt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fancy that, a lost sailor,” comes a voice beside him and he almost falls out of the tiny boat. He jerks around, startled, and then just stares. A man in the water, a man with no legs, stares right back at him with glittering blue eyes, and all of a sudden the air leaves Tavish’s lungs in a whoosh.</p><p>(a pirate!au with merman sniper, and things don't always go as planned.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	full fathom five

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to herrcolonel for beta reading.  
> Also thanks to gin for being the ever-present cheerleader.

Tavish is halfway back to his ship and crew when he hears it: a light splashing of waves against the hull of his stolen boat, alerting him that he’s not alone.

“Fancy that, a lost sailor,” comes a voice beside him and he almost falls out of the tiny boat. He jerks around, startled, and then just _stares_. A man in the water, a man with no legs, stares right back at him with glittering blue eyes, and all of a sudden the air leaves Tavish’s lungs in a _whoosh_.

“Bloody hell,” he manages, and the man smiles in response. His teeth are shiny-white iridescent, like pointed pearls.

“What, never seen a merman before?” the creature’s voice is full of humor, all soft rounded vowels, and Tavish wonders if maybe the explosions from his recent daring escape must have knocked a few screws loose from his head.

“Never seen a sea ghoul,” he says finally. “Though they’re a mite bit prettier in the legends than in real life, it would seem.” The merman laughs at that, a sound like waves lapping at a rocky shore. Before Tavish can react, there are long webbed fingers around his wrist, turning it over in the sunlight. He remains silent as the merman inspects the scar branded there, the one marking him as a wanted criminal. He tilts his head.

“Humans aren’t the most approving of piracy,” he says. “Is that why you had to blow up half the town when you ran?” Tavish shrugs. Wonders how long the merman’s been watching him.

“Makes for a hell of a story,” he says. “Like you.”

The merman laughs again and rolls onto his back like an eel, flicking his silver-pink tail out of the water to splash at the human, who flinches involuntarily. Then he leans forward in one graceful motion, closes in until Tavish can see the lines of his face and the silver flecks in his eyes, and growls, breath cold against his face: “You wanna hear a story, mate?” Tavish doesn’t move or breathe as the man leans in right by his ear:

“ _I’ve eaten sailors just like you, love_.”

And then the creature flits back into the choppy waves as Tavish sits there in stunned silence. The water is dark and still as if the sea ghoul had never been there, but his haunting words ring through Tavish’s head like bells.

It’s a long way back to his ship.

 

 

“Stop following us,” Tavish says three days later, when he finds the merman dripping outside the railing of his captain’s quarters in the middle of the night. The creature doesn’t move when Tavish rests his hand on the hilt of the dagger hanging on his hip, a warning.

“Real nice ship you got there, mate. She’s the prettiest ghost I’ve seen in these waters,” the merman remarks, and Tavish stiffens.

“It’s Captain Tavish Degroot to you,” he barks. “Now get off my ship before someone sees you.” The merman just blinks disinterestedly. The moonlight catches on the scales of his tail, making it glint in the darkness, and Tavish very briefly considers the price a siren’s tail would fetch in port. The merman raises an eyebrow, as if reading his thoughts.

“Captain,” he drawls. “Aren’t you gonna to ask for my name?”

Tavish scowls. “Why, so you can tease me more?”

The merman tilts his head back, considering him for a brief moment. “It’s Mun-Dee,” he says, without prompting.

“Mundy,” Tavish repeats, rolling the strange name in his mouth. It’s unlike any name he’s heard on his travels, but it seems to suit the merman well. “Well, it’s a bloody pleasure to meet you. Now what can I do to convince you to leave my crew alone and never come back?”

Mundy pulls his lips back, revealing a slice of white. “Tell me a story,” he says.

The captain crosses his arms and doesn’t let the surprise show on his face. “Why?”

“Would you rather me bother your men instead?”

“Feh,” Tavish mutters. “I’d tell you about the time I made my dramatic escape from the hangman’s noose only to be pestered by a sea devil right afterwards, but I think you already know that one.”

More laughter like tinkling rain. Mundy reaches out with one hand towards his face, slim fingers ghosting over the eye patch there. “Tell me how you lost your eye.”

Tavish instinctively pulls away from the slight touch. His heart is pounding hard in his chest like a hammer to an anvil. “It’s a long story, lad,” he mumbles, and the merman drapes his arms over the railing.

“I’ve got all the time in the world, love.”

His eyes are blue like the ocean and nearly deep enough to swim in, and Tavish should run and run and run while he still can.

“Fine,” is what he says, because something deep inside him doesn’t want to have to choose, and besides, it’s a story he rather enjoys telling. It’s a fantastical tale from his childhood filled with witchcraft and cursed tomes, some details embellished, some cut out altogether, and still he gets the feeling that nobody quite believes the truth behind his missing eye.

So that night Captain Tavish Degroot leans against the railing under the light of the moon, smiles, and asks a fable if he believes in magic.

 

 

At dawn Tavish counts his men on deck and all of them are accounted for, not a single one missing. Something like relief spreads through him, cool and unexpected. He doesn’t see the merman that night, or the next night, or the one after that, until he has to admit that he’s expecting him, waiting for his brightly-finned acquaintance to come back and tap on his cabin window in the dead of the night.

The merman does come back eventually, but when he does it’s always several hours after sundown when the rest of the crewmembers are fast asleep under the deck.

“Captain,” he greets, “tell me a story.”

Tavish always obliges (“Can’t promise any happy endings, you’ll get that about me,” he says), but oh he can talk, and Mundy makes a good audience. The merman seems to like hearing about what it’s like on land, the way humans live and die, old tales about sailors drowned by beautiful sirens.

“Humans and their myths,” he says flippantly, “they can never quite get the truth right.”

He pays especially close attention when Tavish talks about himself, stories of his adventures on the seven seas, tales of epic battles and wild escapes along with small vignettes from his childhood. When the captain asks him about his own life under the sea, Mundy always dives back into the water without answering, but always returns a few nights later.

One night the talking wakes up Tavish’s parrot perched above the dresser in the corner of his cabin. With a squawk and a ruffle of feathers, it flaps over to the open window to sit on its owner’s shoulder and inspect the newcomer.

“Ah, hello there beastie,” Mundy says as the bird cocks its head and peers at him with one eye. “Never seen a bird like that before.”

Tavish pats the bird’s head reassuringly. “Aye, must’ve picked him up on land when I was drunk one day,” he confesses. “He’s been around for a while. Nice company to keep around, I reckon.”

Mundy eyes the parrot, which has taken to preening its green plumage with its beak. “Maybe you can give me some of the feathers when it molts,” he suggests. It’s an odd request, but one that Tavish makes sure to remember.

“Funny thing,” he tells him. “Never heard of a fish wanting feathers,” and Mundy just laughs and laughs in that eerie way of his that digs into Tavish’s bones and rings in his ears for days after.

 

 

“Ship spotted!”

Tavish raises a hand against the glare of the sun and peers up the mainmast where Scout is perched in the crow’s nest. The young sailor is pointing at a distant speck on the horizon, and Tavish pulls out his telescope to get a better look. The skies are clear enough to see for leagues around, and he has no trouble spotting it: a merchant ship, larger than the Eyelander but less heavily armed, and surely carrying precious cargo. Anticipation grows in the pit of his stomach as he puts down the telescope and looks back at the helm where Misha is standing behind the wheel. The giant quartermaster catches his gaze and nods in understanding, calling out to the crew on deck: “All in favor!” and there is a rallying cry of cheers and whoops as the gunners prepare the canons.

Tavish grins; this is his calling, this is what he was made for. The sun is high in the sky and the wind is in their favor, and oh, does he come alive. The quartermaster may command the ship during peacetime, but it is the Captain who leads his men into battle.

They hoist their colors.

 

 

“That was a lot of innocent men you let drown,” Mundy comments, turning in lazy circles in the waters below. “Do you wanna know what happened to them?”

“How long are you going to follow us?” Tavish snaps, not expecting an answer. He doesn’t get one.

 

 

They make port in Tortuga to unload their cargo and restock on supplies. Misha didn’t let him keep all the rum, but Tavish had managed to swipe a few bottles from the crates to add to the stash in his quarters. It doesn’t matter so much on land, though; the ale here runs like water, sweet and plentiful. The rest of the crew is glad for a much-deserved break from sea and Tavish lets them enjoy solid land, warning them to stay in one piece until they set sail again. During the day, Misha accompanies their ship’s surgeon into town to replenish their supplies while their carpenter busies himself with ship repairs.

At night however, the tavern is crowded and full of raucous laughter. Tavish chuckles at Scout’s embarrassment when a group of prostitutes pass by them, calling out lewd, suggestive things that make the young man flush bright red. Jane disappears halfway through the night, giggling drunkenly as he’s dragged along by a dark-haired wench that looks like she could lift him with one arm. Even Pyro—whose face no one has ever glimpsed, for he wears a layer of bandanas too thick to see what’s underneath—sits down to play a game of dice with the townsfolk, clapping gleefully every time he wins a round.

There’s a jostling at his shoulder and someone says, “Bloody hell, you’re Captain Tavish Degroot!” and Tavish grins, clinks mugs with strangers and drinks the night away. Sometime after his third mug he notices a solitary figure hunched over in the corner, rocking back and forth and mumbling into his drink. The man must be mad or a drunk, but his eyes lock onto Tavish as the Captain approaches him, drink in each hand.

“Not enjoying the revelry, eh?” Tavish asks, sliding one mug across the counter. The haggard man takes it while muttering at the ground, and Tavish gives him a questioning look.

“Ye must’ve heard, haven’t ye. Everyone’s heard ‘bout it,” the stranger rasps, his voice barely intelligible through his thick beard. “They took ‘er, they did, cursed sea folk, took ‘er on the night before ‘er wedding at that,” and he stares wildly at the Captain through red-rimmed eyes. Tavish shrugs and claps the man on the back before returning to the crowded bar, somewhat unsettled.

The tavern owner gives him a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry ‘bout him, mate,” he tells Tavish, “Bloke’s raving. Says his daughter was kidnapped by sirens, can you believe that?” and Tavish nods emphatically. Folk around here are as superstitious as they get in port settlements, and through the years he’s heard his share of tall tales.

“Aye, he could be right,” Tavish tells the tavern owner. “’S pity no one believes the poor fellow.”

The owner laughs, not even looking up from his sweeping. “Whatever you say, Captain. Maybe you aren’t the only devil in these waters, eh?” and Tavish’s mouth quirks up at the edges.

“Wouldn’t that be something.”

 

 

Mundy is waiting on the bulwark the night after they leave port. “Welcome back, Captain,” he says, eyes glinting in the dark, “Hope you enjoyed your time on land. Heard anything interesting up there?”

Never in a million years would Tavish admit he had been thinking of him. Instead, he tells him about his strange encounter with the man in the tavern, the one whose daughter was taken by sirens. “You don’t _really_ kidnap maidens before their weddings,” he states, and Mundy scratches his chin thoughtfully.

“Probably not. I suppose it depends on if the wedding is taking place on a ship or not… but I wouldn’t know either way. I’m not a mermaid, love.” He grins cheekily, tail swaying in the breeze. Tavish doesn’t even pretend not to stare.

“You can’t stay here forever,” he tells him. “Someone will see you eventually, and what then?”

“Think you can get rid of me, love?” Mundy’s teeth are long and sharp. A piranha couldn’t match his expression; he is an unreal vision, a nightmare, a fantasy. Tavish can’t look away.

He doesn’t want Mundy to leave, but he’s afraid of what will happen if he stays.

 

 

They don’t call it the Badwater Basin for nothing; the craggy cliffs winding through the channel are lined with shipwreck debris, both old and new, serving as a grim reminder for sailors passing though. The occasional scavenger boat might stick around to scour the wreckage for valuables, but most sensible ships do not linger for long. The eeriness of the Badwaters inspired a great number of ghost stories in the Caribbean, and Tavish reckons they’re not entirely unfounded.

“Keep a weather eye open!” Jane bellows, voice booming across the deck and cutting through the sharp wind. The crewmembers are nervous at their stations, and Tavish doesn’t blame them. His own fingers twitch for his bottle of scrumpy, but he makes an effort to stay still.

There’s a cry from the bow. “Shipwreck spotted ahead!” A small crowd gathers by the railing, clamoring to catch a glimpse at the sight.

It’s captivating. The wreckage is large and half-breached onto a cluster of large rocks, still burning—the wreck couldn’t have happened much more than a few hours ago—and it was an ambush, by the looks of it. The crew probably never even had a chance to defend themselves. Tavish pushes his way to the front, leaning over the bulwark to get a better view. The smoke from the fire clouds visibility and fills the air with the smell of gunpowder, making it difficult to determine the origins of the ship—whether merchant, navy, or pirate.

There’s a tap on his shoulder and when he turns, Pyro mumbles into his ear: “W’re not alone, C’ptain.” Tavish’s stomach is a stone in his gut. Sticking around would do them no favors if the mysterious attacker were to return.

“Back to stations!” Misha roars, and the crowd disperses, whispering amongst themselves.

Tavish takes one last glance at the debris drifting in the water, and that’s when he sees it: a shapeless blob floating on the side of a barrel, bobbing up and down with the waves. He leans closer, squints his eye.

The blob moves. His heart jumps in his chest.

“ _Man overboard!”_

The boatswain drops his rigging and hurries to his side, along with a few other crewmembers. When they finally pull the survivor out of the water, it becomes clear that the overboard man is, in fact, a woman. Her hair is a black tangle at the base of her neck as she collapses on the deck like a drowned rat, shivering and dripping. Misha drapes his coat over her sodden form, the garment falling around her tiny figure like a blanket. “Step aside!” their surgeon orders, pushing his way to the woman’s side. He kneels beside her. “Can you speak? Vhat is you name?”

The woman stares up wildly at him, eyes unfocused. She’s clenching something tight to her chest, refusing to let go of it when the doctor lifts her upright so she can speak. “Pauling,” she forces out through chattering teeth, “My name is Pauling.”

 

 

The next time Tavish sees the woman, she’s knocking on the door to his private quarters. “Captain,” she says quietly, “may I come in?”

Tavish waves her in and she closes the door behind her. She’s looking much better since the last time he saw her; the surgeon must have taken good care of her. There’s color in her cheeks now and her knotted hair has been mostly shorn off, short as a man’s now. She rakes a hand through her scalp, smiling nervously.

Tavish pours them both a drink. “What can I do for you, Miss Pauling?” he says. She takes the glass and sits down.

“You saw the wreckage, didn’t you?” She takes a small sip, face unreadable. “The HMS Dawn Breaker is now at the bottom of the sea. I was the only survivor.”

Tavish swirls the wine around in his glass. “Don’t bother telling me you’re under the King’s commission. Or that you’re a pirate.” He leans forward. “By the looks of it, you’re a bloody stowaway.” Miss Pauling stiffens at his accusation.

“It doesn’t matter how I got on board in the first place,” she points out. “What matters now is that the people who sank the Dawn Breaker are going to find out I’m alive, and they’re going to come back for me.” Tavish furrows his eyebrows. There are so many unanswered questions turning in his head.

“Who’s coming after you? _Why_ are they coming after you?” He pauses, suddenly cautious. “Who are you anyway, lass?”

Miss Pauling gives him a thin smile, setting down her glass. As Tavish watches, she reaches under the collar of her shirt and pulls out something attached to a cord around her neck, something gold and shiny. His heart catches in his throat and for a moment, he forgets to breathe.

“Bloody hell,” he whispers. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Miss Pauling responds. “And Lord Saxton Hale _very much_ wants his Australium back.”

She gives him a much-needed moment to process the information. Tavish blinks, and then decisively chugs down the rest of his wine.

“I understand that you may feel some regret from taking me aboard, Captain,” she continues, “But I will not be staying long to endanger you and your crew. If you can find a way to smuggle me into the next port, I will make sure you’re rewarded. Otherwise…” she trails off.

“I could throw you in a dinghy and let the sea have you,” Tavish says, not unkindly. “But I have my own code, and the Eyelander is a special ship. You’ll see.” He takes a drink directly from the bottle. “You’ve brought hell onto my heels, lass, and you’ll help us get out of this mess, you understand?”

Miss Pauling nods, a hint of relief showing on her face.

“Go on then,” Tavish says, escorting her out of the cabin. “The quartermaster will show you around. He’s the giant bloke, you won’t miss him.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she says. “Truly. I’m grateful.”

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbles. As the door closes, he goes to fetch more rum from his stash. He’s going to need it.

 

 

“Harboring fugitives now, are we?” Mundy comments, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “How d’you suppose it’ll end?”

 _For me or for her?_ Tavish thinks, but he says, “It’s none of your business. The Eyelander—she’ll take in any lost soul, that’s what she does,” and the merman chews a piece of kelp thoughtfully. It goes unsaid: _we were all fugitives, once._

“She’ll take you home,” Tavish says softly, running a hand across the weathered railing, and when he meets Mundy’s eyes they’re full of understanding.

“You love her,” he says simply, and Tavish’s heart catches in his throat from all the things he’s never said out loud, not to him, not to anyone, and the merman is looking at him like he _knows._ And oh, Tavish threw his heart out to the sea when he was young and the sea hurled it back in the form of an unsinkable ship and a loyal crew, and that’s where it’s been ever since, cutting through deep waters to chase legends and fairytales and distant dreams. He threw his heart out to sea and made the horizon his home and never once looked back, and he wouldn’t give it up for all the treasure in the world.

“There ain’t anyone waiting for you on shore, is there,” Mundy whispers, so close that Tavish can almost taste the salt on his skin.

“What would you know?” He can’t meet his gaze.

“You lose, Captain, either way,” Mundy says, arms spread wide. “They’ll come for the girl and then they’ll come for you, and in the end you’ll have nowhere to run.” He grins mirthlessly as Tavish turns and walks away, the echoes of his voice following him all the way back to his cabin.

_You think you can outrun death, Captain?_

 

 

Tavish stands at the helm, watching the crew work on deck. Miss Pauling has adjusted surprisingly well to pirate life, swiftly picking up several sailor skills from her time on deck. Currently she’s sitting by the foremast with Scout, who is doing his best to teach her how to tie knots with a length of rope. He smiles bashfully as she bumps his shoulder in excitement when she gets a knot right. Even if she’s not a fully-fledged sailor, she is quite useful to keep around. When she’s not helping the cook in the kitchen, she’s assisting the surgeon with his duties, tending to minor wounds and keeping the ship clean. Not once does she complain, and the crewmen are starting to grow fond of her.

The next time they make port in, however, there is something off about the docks. Several men in the Hale Trading Company’s uniforms patrol up and down the piers, suspiciously eyeing any passerby. Miss Pauling keeps her head down as they enter town, where they are greeted with a series of ominous wanted posters by the market’s entrance. One of them has a sketch of Miss Pauling’s face on it, back from when her hair was longer. She pales when she sees it and ducks behind Misha, who turns to shield her from view as a pair of patrolling officers pass by. With her cropped hair and worn sailors clothes, she could easily be mistaken for a cabin boy by a casual observer, but it would be foolish to risk bringing her into town. Along with a giant quartermaster and a loud (and possibly insane) first mate, they simply draw too much attention to themselves. So at the first opportunity given, they quickly return to the ship as inconspicuously as possible.

“This won’t work.” Tavish huddles with Misha and Jane around the wheel, explaining the situation. “If she’s caught, she’ll lead Hale’s men right back to the Eyelander. We can’t fight them, and forgeries won’t get us out of this one.” They share a worried glance.

“What we do now?” Misha rumbles.

Tavish sets his jaw decisively. “We have to keep going. There’s got to be port somewhere in these waters that Hale’s ilk hasn’t infested yet.”

They weigh anchor and open the sails, and Tavish doesn’t relax until land is a distant speck on the horizon.

 

 

For the first time, it’s Tavish’s turn to wait outside that night. The moon is high enough in the sky that he can get a good view of the dark waters below. He shakes the anchor chain and hisses, “ _Mundy! Get over here!”_

The merman doesn’t make him wait long.

“What,” he says flatly, poking his head above the water. He looks uncharacteristically grumpy, crossing his arms over the lean muscle on his chest as Tavish waves down at him.

“Mundy, I need you to—“ and then there’s a moment where the merman turns, grimacing, and spits out something small and white. It lands with a _plop_ into the water, and Tavish’s voice falters. “Uh, lad? You alright?”

Mundy scowls. There is blood on his mouth and dripping down his chin, tinting the water pink in the moonlight. A little ruefully, he reaches up to wipe his mouth on the back of one webbed hand. He glares up at Tavish, who peers back at him curiously. “What’re you lookin’ at, mate?”

“Did you just… spit out a tooth?” It’s so strange that Tavish can feel a chuckle rising out of him.

Mundy spats out another mouthful of blood and foam. “Shut up,” he grouses. “My teeth are shedding, ’s all.”

“Like a shark,” Tavish says, a little surprised. “I didn’t think it would bleed. Does it hurt?”

The look Mundy gives him is truly scathing. “Yes, it bloody hurts, you idiot. And no, it’s not supposed to bleed. I just couldn’t resist… poking it a bit, all right?” When he catches the sight of the captain’s face, he adds, “And don’t laugh at me, you bloody piker!”

Tavish’s got a solid poker face, but there’s a small thrill in seeing the merman like this-- _he bleeds red, like any mortal creature._ But the giddiness soon subsides and Tavish remembers why he called for him in the first place. He clears his throat. “I need you to do something for me, mate. Since you’re following us anyway, would you mind keeping an eye out for anything suspicious that might be tailing the Eyelander?”

“Oh, I see,” Mundy says knowingly. “That girl finally got you caught in some trouble, did she?”

“Not yet. And if we’re careful, not ever.”

Mundy considers him, and then spits out another glob of pink. It looks like the bleeding is finally starting to staunch, but his face is still screwed up as if in pain. “Fine. But don’t be expecting any more favors from me, Captain. I’m not part of your crew to command as you like.”

“Fine by me.”

 

 

A few weeks later a sickness spreads through the ship, catching most of the crew unawares. Nearly half the deckhands are incapacitated for a few days, delegated to rest below deck until the fever passes. The ship’s surgeon, a tall man with a German accent, has his hands full with recovering sailors and Miss Pauling tries her best to assist him, bringing fresh water and food to the bed-ridden crew until she, too, falls prey to the disease. The ship stalls for several days. Tavish grows anxious; if they were being followed, they would make for easy targets right now.

But eventually the fever passes and the crewmembers recover enough to return to their stations, and the ship picks up back on route. But after several days the surgeon comes to Tavish bearing unfortunate news.

“Kapitän, Scout’s condition has not improved in several days.”

Tavish knits his eyebrows together. He had noticed the deckhand’s absence in the crow’s nest earlier that day. “Is he the only one who hasn’t recovered yet?”

The surgeon nods. “If you do not wish to lose him to rather unfortunate circumstances, I suggest we make port as soon as possible to secure the necessary treatment.” The nearest port is still a few days of sailing away, but Tavish agrees with certainty.

 

 

“Have you seen anything?” Tavish asks, as Mundy picks at his teeth with a fish bone.

“Nothing unusual,” he drawls. “But it looks like you’ve recently come across a string of bad luck, mate.”

Tavish waves a hand dismissively. “We’ve weathered through worse. And by the way, that’s disgusting,” he points at the fish bone, and Mundy frowns, insulted.

“Humans are far more disgusting. When was the last time _you_ had a bath?” and this time, it’s Tavish’s turn to be affronted.

“What?” Mundy says, catching the look on his face. “Oh look, you could always come take a dip here with me, if ya like.” He splashes the water with his tail, grinning cheekily.

Tavish snorts. “I’ll pass, thanks. Keep a weather eye out, Mundy.” The merman nods and gives a loose salute before slipping back under the waves.

 

 

The rumors start early the next day, shortly after Tavish wakes up in the morning. As he exits his quarters, he notices some of the men muttering amongst themselves behind the rigging. They don’t seem to notice Tavish approaching. “What going on?” he prompts, and several of the sailors jump in surprise. They glance at each other.

Finally one of them speaks up. “Ah, Captain. Conagher over there reckons he saw a mermaid last night while he was on night patrol. Just a bit of delusion while on duty, if I do say so myself,” and several of the deckhands snigger. Tavish rolls his eyes. Layabouts, the lot of them.

“Back to work, ye loafing bilge rats,” he snaps, and the deckhands scurry off to make themselves busy. Tavish crosses his arms, thinking hard. The sailors’ idleness isn’t what worries him, but the possibility that someone might have caught a glimpse of Mundy without either of them knowing unsettles him. He sets off to find the man who was on watch duty last night.

Tavish finds Conagher tying up some rigging by the mizzenmast. The carpenter nods at him as the captain approaches. “Mornin’, Sir. How can I help you?”

Tavish claps him on the back. “Master Conagher. I’ve been hearing some interesting rumors around here,” he says, and Dell shrugs one shoulder, setting down the rope.

“I’m guessin’ gossip spreads real quick on a ship, don’t it,” he concedes. “I was only telling Scout about what happened last night. Poor boy must be spinnin’ out of his mind by now, stuck in his bunk like that. It was pretty cloudy last night y’know, and I thought I saw something in the water. Looked like a shark. I thought it was a shark too, but my mind must’ve been playin’ tricks on me because in the darkness it looked like it had arms.” Dell cracks a smile. “Days at sea. Maybe we’re all just spinnin’ out of our minds, huh?”

“Yeah, s’ppose so.” Internally, he breathes a sigh of relief. If Conagher wasn’t sure what he saw, then there was no reason to worry.

“Maybe you should check up on the boy,” the carpenter continues. “He could probably use a bit of company.” Tavish thanks him and heads down the stairs to the living quarters below.

It is relatively dark below deck and Tavish glances around the berth, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. Scout is by himself, swinging gently in his hammock. In his hands is a cup of water, probably given to him by Miss Pauling. “Hey,” Tavish says, and the boy glances up.

“Yo, Captain. Wasn’t expecting you to come by,” he mumbles. He’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and shaking on top of being flushed from the fever. He coughs wetly. “Did ya hear? Everyone’s been talking about a mermaid. Do ya think she’s real?”

Tavish rubs circles into his shoulder. “I dunno, lad.”

“My mum used to tell me stories about them when I was real little,” Scout whispers. His eyes are unfocused. “They were supposed to be real beautiful. She told me the one about the little mermaid who rescued her love at sea. Incredible, right?” Tavish hums, dabbing a damp cloth at Scout’s forehead. There’s a pang in his chest when he thinks about Scout down here by himself, with only the surgeon and Miss Pauling to keep him company through his suffering. Conagher definitely had the right idea, coming down here to see him.

“Try to get some rest. You just need to hold on for a little longer,” he says gently, and Scout’s eyes slide shut slowly. He makes a mental note to ask Miss Pauling to get him some clean clothes, and maybe something to eat. Perhaps he can even leave his parrot down here, just so Scout would have someone to talk to.

Tavish is on his way back upstairs when he hears Scout say, barely audible, “You’re a real good man, ya know that, Cap?”

 

 

The next morning, Scout is gone.

“What do you mean, _gone_?” Tavish says, and Miss Pauling just shrugs helplessly.

“We checked his bunk and the living quarters and all around the hold, and even on deck. There’s no where else he could have gone.”

Tavish pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels unsteady on his feet, and it has nothing to do with the rum from last night. “Thank you, Miss Pauling. You can leave.”

He’s shaking, clenching a bottle of rum in his fist. It’s too early to drink. The edge of his bed creaks as he collapses on the mattress. He really doesn’t even want to consider it, but he thinks he knows what happened to the young sailor.

 

 

“You took him. Where else could he have gone, but overboard?” Tavish snarls, and Mundy just looks back at him, face unreadable.

“Quiet, Captain, someone might hear you,” Mundy says softly. Tavish wants strangle him. It’s been so long that he forgot that Mundy wasn’t human; he let his guard down. He let his guard down, and he should have known, should have found a way to prevent this.

He wraps his hands around the railing, squeezes hard. His breath comes out ragged and uneven. “Don’t even try to deny it, you… you sea devil, you!”

Mundy almost looks sad, then. “I didn’t go after him, mate. He came to me first. He knew he wasn’t going to live to see shore; I wouldn’t have done it otherwise, you know that.”

“His contract was going to be up next time we docked!” Tavish hisses, “He was going to go home and see his mother and—“ he chokes off, the words dying in his windpipe. There’s an awful twisting in his chest, and Mundy’s looking at him like he’s _pitying_ him, as if this wasn’t his fault—

“Captain,” he says, ever so gently. “There are bigger things coming before long, and I hate to be the bringer of more bad news but… your time is running out, mate.”

Tavish slowly lowers his head into his hands. The anger dissolves, leaving him cold. “You’re a liar, Mundy.” The words feel thick in his mouth.

The merman shakes his head. “I never lied to you. You on the other hand… I wouldn’t be so sure. Why don’t you tell me what _really_ happened to your eye?” he says quietly, and Tavish turns away, a prickling feeling all over his skin. There’s no way he had of knowing.

“Just… just go,” he rasps. “Don’t come back.” He’s not sure if the merman hears him, but the next time he looks up, he’s all alone on the stern.

 

 

His nights are quiet, now. 

 

 

There is smoke on the horizon.

“It’s Hale,” Miss Pauling says, eyes full of fear and desperation. “Oh, God, they’ve found us already.” Her shaking fingers go to her throat, where the Australium is hidden beneath her shirt. Tavish closes his eye. One ghost ship and her crew against Hale’s entire fleet— did they ever really have a chance?

“We’ll run,” he says. “Change our heading to east; they won’t follow us into the storm.”

“Captain, we wouldn’t survive venturin’ into a maelstrom of that size,” the boatswain hedges. “Ain’t a ship in history built by man that can weather a storm like that.”

An old recklessness surges through Tavish then, and he lets out a chuckle. “Aye, but who would I be if I couldn’t weather a little rain?” The wind picks up, and the first droplets of rain begin to splash his face. Death behind them and death up ahead, but the Eyelander is no ship built by man, and he’ll leave his fate to the sea one last time.

 

 

“All hands on deck, maggots!” Jane roars from the helm, and the ship lurches unsteadily beneath Tavish’s feet. An incoming wave catches them on their starboard side, sloshing over the bulwark and knocking several seamen off their feet. Visibility is down to almost nothing now, and Tavish can hardly see across the deck through the thick sheets of rain, let alone set a direction. They need more men on the rigging, the mainsail needs tending—

“Scout!” Tavish shouts over the wind, “Get on the—“ and then he realizes, they’re one man down, shorthanded of all the times, and Misha is yelling over the rumbling of the waves.

“Hull is breached, Captain! Leaks in lower deck!”

They don’t have men to spare. The sky is as black as Tavish has ever seen it, and the waves crash over them like fury. He could have lived his entire life without seeing a storm this angry. Tavish shoves his way to the helm, where Jane is clinging on to the wheel for dear life. His parrot is perched on his shoulder, squawking indignantly at the salty spray on its sodden feathers.

“We’re not going to make it, Tav,” Jane cries. “She’s going down, we can’t fight these waters—“

Tavish’s heart is like a stone in his chest. “We just need to hold on, mate—“

“There’s nothing left to hold on _to_ , we’re sinking!”

The clap of thunder is loud in his ears as he rounds on the deck: “Get Conagher!” he shouts hoarsely, “We need to stop the lower deck from flooding!”

Misha grabs his arm as he stumbles past. He wrenches around, eyes blazing. “Captain,” the Quartermaster says, voice booming over the rain, “It is over. We must abandon ship.”

Tavish squeezes his eye shut, holds tight to a line as another wave slams into their side. His crew always comes first, he can’t let them die like this, but he won’t abandon the Eyelander to the Locker—

He nods once. “Get in the boats,” he tells him, “I’m staying with her ‘till the end.” The Eyelander was all he had in the beginning, and it’s the only thing he’ll have in the end.

“Captain—“

“ _GO_ ,” he roars, and Misha heaves forward, calling to the men on deck, and Tavish struggles back to the bridge.

He owes her this much.

_The Captain goes down with his ship._

 

 

He jerks to consciousness with a slap of cold water on his face, coughing and sputtering as another looming wave crashes over his head. The current tosses him head over heels. It’s dark under the surface; so dark, he can’t tell which way is up. He has to get back to the Eyelander—but where did she go?

His head breaks the surface and he gasps for air, half inhaling saltwater instead, and he chokes as he’s pulled under again. Weariness drags at his limbs. His lungs are liquid fire.

_Fancy that, a lost sailor._

He has to be hallucinating. Mundy is in front of him, floating calmly in the storm, watching him with those piercing eyes. He smiles, and his teeth are as sharp as Tavish remembers. His glittering tail wraps around his kicking legs, pulling him forward. Tavish tries to shout, but all that comes out is a stream of bubbles.

_Stop struggling, Tavish. Just breathe._

Tavish tries to pull back. He can’t be real. Mundy never calls him by his name, only _Captain_ and _Mate_ and _Love—_

But he’s real. Tavish can feel him with his numbing hands, smooth and solid underneath his palms. He came back. He came back.

And now Tavish is going to die, the sea claiming him for the last time.

 _Breathe. Just breathe._ The roar of the storm fades until it’s just Mundy’s voice, clear all around him.

He wants to see the Eyelander, just one last time before he goes. He wants to sail with her in fair weather again, with nothing but the wind on his back, but Mundy’s eyes are like starlight, and he wants that, too. He wants to dive to the bottom of the ocean and see where the merman’s pearlescent teeth fell, buried like long-lost treasure.

_Come on, breathe._

There is salt underneath his tongue. Salt is all he has left.

He breathes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. in case anyone's wondering, gaben's the boatswain who is obsessed with sails, and yes, he's dead. sorry.
> 
> soon i will upload some backstory on the eyelander and her crew not present in this story.


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